


i must be high.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment, “Dude, there’s this guy I want you to meet, he’s awesome, you’ll love him,” comes out of Scott’s mouth, Stiles is certain that he will not, in fact, love this person.  He will probably hate him.  The only times that Scott has ever said those words were with Isaac, who Stiles tolerates, on a good day.  It’s an even higher ranking than “he’s really not so bad, if you give him a chance” on the scale of Things Scott McCall Says About People Stiles Will Not Like.</p>
<p>“He’s my roommate,” leaves Scott’s mouth, and Stiles is even more certain that this guy is going to be on Stiles’ shit list, at best.</p>
<p>(Or, the one where Derek is Scott's college roommate, and Stiles is determined not to like him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i must be high.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdy_farm_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/gifts).



> Happy Derek Hale Rarepair Week!

From the moment, “Dude, there’s this guy I want you to meet, he’s  _awesome_ , you’ll love him,” comes out of Scott’s mouth, Stiles is certain that he will not, in fact, love this person.  He will probably hate him.  The only times that Scott has ever said those words were with Isaac, who Stiles  _tolerates_ , on a good day.  It’s an even higher ranking than “he’s really not so bad, if you give him a chance” on the scale of Things Scott McCall Says About People Stiles Will Not Like.

“He’s my roommate,” leaves Scott’s mouth, and Stiles is even more certain that this guy is going to be on Stiles’ shit list, at best.  Because that dude, whoever they are, should be Stiles.  If Stiles would have paid a little bit more attention to the deadline to submit his half of things, had listened a little bit more to Scott’s nagging, then he would be the one eating flaming hot cheetos and talking about music, stoned with Scott.  It should be Stiles snuggling up to Scott when Scott hits 3 AM and gets snuggly and clingy and overly familiar, handing out kisses like they’re candy on Halloween.  It shouldn’t be this stranger, this dude who doesn’t know Scott and doesn’t know that Melissa phone calls are sacred and not to be interrupted, or that Scott is allergic to mangoes. 

“It’s only the first day of school, are you replacing me already?” Stiles asks.  Scott takes it as a joke, laughs and huffs out a, “Never, dude,” but Stiles is uneasy.  

But it’s just the first day, and he’s sure it’s just Scott giving his roommate the benefit of the doubt.  Stiles’ own roommate, Boyd, seems chill but generally a big fan of having his own space and Stiles keeping his shit out of it.  Stiles is sure this Derek dude will have his idiosyncrasies, and that Scott will learn that he’s less than flawless pretty quickly.

“I’m sure he’s great,” Stiles says, and he changes the topic, hoping that will be the end of it.

Except that Derek keeps coming up.

He’s taking a lot of the same classes that Scott is, because Derek wants to study plants, or something, and apparently that requires a lot of biology.  And he eats meals with Scott a lot, because they walk back from class together, and because they’re roommates.  Stiles hears Derek stories every single time he and Scott hang out.  

“Today, the fire alarm went off while you were in class, and Derek was in the shower, and I saw him in a towel, and  _wow_ , Stiles he’s exactly your type.  Mine, too, really.”  

“Stiles, Derek caught the dude down the hall who always leaves dining hall dishes in the hall kitchen sink, he saved us all from having to get up at 6 AM to have our RA yell at us, isn’t that great?  Derek’s pretty great.  I think he scares a lot of the people in our hall, now, but he’s actually not that bad.  Not a morning person, though.”  

“Hey, guess what - Derek likes pop punk, too!  He knows every Brand New song by heart, dude, and he was at the same concert we went to.  He sang some to me, and his voice is raspy and like, I wanna hear it after he’s smoked a bowl, it gave me shivers.”

“Turns out Derek’s chill with 3 AM kisses, and, dude, promise me you’ll try this.  He doesn’t kiss like you do, but he has stubble, and it’s all prickly, and it shouldn’t feel nice, but it actually kinda does?  I dunno, you’d have to feel it to know.”

“You still haven’t met Derek, have you?  How about we can invite him when we hang out this Friday?  Does that sound okay?”

“Fine,” Stiles says.  He’s been working hard to avoid this moment, stealing Scott away for himself as much as he could.  Boyd doesn’t mind it when Scott stays over, as long as they aren’t fucking with him there, so most of their time hanging out has been in Stiles’ room instead of Scott’s.  Now that Boyd is dating someone(s?), he spends some nights in Erica and Kira’s room, leaving it perfectly acceptable for Scott to crowd into Stiles’ bed and drape himself all over Stiles, kissing him until they’re both tired and bumping noses and tilting their heads too much.  

Some nights, they do have sex, rubbing off against each other with little technique, feeling good pressed against each other and letting it go wherever it goes.  Scott and Stiles have done this together for a while, before and during Stiles dating Malia, in and out while Scott was with Allison and Kira.  Sometimes with Malia and/or Allison and/or Kira; they were always a flexible group, when it came to sex, though it always made relationships hard to define concretely.  The concept of using love as a determinate has never really worked, because Stiles has always loved Scott, and knew he’d love Malia from the moment he met her.  But he didn’t  _not_  love Allison and Kira.

Stiles still doesn’t know what he and Scott are, really.  They’re in this gray zone between friends with benefits and romantic partners that neither of them has ever really felt uncomfortable with.  Scott is Stiles’ and Stiles is Scott’s, and they’re a forever thing.  But now there’s Derek, and Stiles can spot from miles away that Scott’s intentions towards Derek aren’t nearly so fuzzy.  Scott has hearts and stars in his eyes for Derek, and it makes Stiles almost… insecure.  About what he and Scott do have.  It feels silly, but it’s there, nonetheless, and Stiles worries that it will only be easier to spot when he sees Derek and Scott together.  He worries that it will be obvious just from a quick glance that Derek and Scott have something Stiles doesn’t, even if it’s just a basic understanding of what they are to each other.

Stiles tells Scott he’ll meet Derek, but he’s filled with dread.

Until the moment he and Derek actually meet, that is.

Every Friday, Scott and Stiles forego cramming into the booths of bars with their friends and have Scott and Stiles time.  Sometimes it’s just playing video games and talking shit and singing loudly until their neighbors bang on their door for being too loud and Scott feels guilty and calls it a night.  Other times, it’s like the night Stiles is supposed to meet Derek, both of them needing some time to relax.  They can’t smoke in the dorms, because their window doesn’t crack open enough and the fire alarms are sensitive, but there’s a strip of woods by the lake, not too far back behind their dorm, and it’s the perfect place to smoke up without getting caught.

Scott reassures Stiles that Derek isn’t going to narc on them, and with that settled, Stiles heads down to their meeting spot.  He brings the weed and Scott brings the rest; they didn’t bring their pipe or bong to school, because Melissa and the Sheriff got way too involved with packing, but they have rolling paper and filters, so they’re set.

Stiles gets there first, settling into the grass at the edge of the woods.  There’s a lamp post not too far away that draws all the bugs and gives him enough light to see.  He has his phone fully charged to act as a flashlight, if he needs it.  He gets lost looking out at the lake, and when the leaves crackle under Scott’s feet, it makes Stiles jump.

“It’s just me,” Scott says.  Stiles can hear the grin in his voice without even having to look.  He has to look anyway, though; he loves the look of Scott’s hair edged in lamplight, grown out longer again.

“Just you?” Stiles asks, and that’s when he sees him.  Scott wasn’t lying about how big Derek was, or about the stubble.  It’s unfairly neat and developed for someone their age, cut short but not patchy or uneven, like Stiles’ is when he tries to grow it out.  He’s wearing a black leather jacket and a tight shirt, and Stiles almost wants to snark at him that it’s smoking weed in the woods, not a fashion show.  He holds his tongue, though, for the sole reason that he knows that if he said it, Scott would point out that if Lydia Martin had come out to smoke pot with them in the woods, he wouldn’t criticize her even if she were wearing a prom dress and high heels.

(Besides, Scott might be right about the fact that Derek is attractive, and if Derek’s as good at kissing as Scott talked him up to be, then Stiles at least plans to get one good thing out of the night.)

“Derek, this is my Stiles,” Scott says, “and Stiles, this is Derek, my roommate.”

“His boyfriend,” Derek says, but it isn’t pointed, like Stiles would’ve made it.  It’s a little bit of an inherently pointed statement, in that it happened and Stiles didn’t know about it, but from the soft tone of Derek’s voice, Stiles guesses it probably is brand new, and Derek doesn’t mean it as a jab.

“Congrats, dude,” Stiles says, not sure which one of them he’s actually talking to.  It comes out just a little bit sarcastically, but Stiles hopes it’s subtle enough that he’s the only one who noticed.  “You hooked a hottie.”

Scott’s cheeks are rosy, but Derek’s blush is even more pronounced, the redness of his cheeks and ears contrasting his dark hair, visible even in the low light.  Stiles can sort of distantly see why Scott would like that, figures Derek probably gets like that with his cock in Scott’s mouth, too.

Okay, maybe not  _distantly_.  Even Stiles can’t claim to be that removed, because thinking about just about anyone with their cock in Scott’s mouth does it for Stiles, and Derek is the furthest thing from bad to look at.  

They sit down on the grass together to hang out for a while before breaking out the weed.  For all Scott talked Derek up, Stiles expects him to be either obnoxious or boring.  He’s a little bit of both, when it comes down to it; he mostly speaks when he’s spoken to, at first, watching Scott with a look Stiles knows well.  It’s fondness and mild exasperation, bewilderment and a particular focus on the way Scott licks his lips.  If even that much is riling Derek up, Stiles can’t wait until he sees Scott with a joint.

“Have you done this before?” Stiles asks Derek.

“He hasn’t,” Scott says, cutting in.  “Because he was a good kid who was on the basketball team and who had a sweet, pretty brunette girlfriend with dimples and big brown eyes.”

“I have,” Derek disagrees, surprising them both.  “Once.  After the season ended, at a party.  My older sister picked me up after and held it over my head as blackmail material for ages.”

“Good sister,” Stiles jokes, and Derek laughs.  “She’s an asshole,” he says fondly, and Stiles wonders if Derek might not be so bad, after all, if he can appreciate the value of an asshole.

“You want to shotgun, don’t you?” Scott asks Stiles, jolting Stiles’ attention back towards him.  “He always wants to shotgun,” Scott tells Derek.  “Any chance he’ll get.”

“Your fault,” Stiles reminds him, but he takes that as his cue to pull out the weed.  Scott gets to work rolling joints; his fingers are more careful than Stiles’, and his eyesight in the dim light is better.  Plus, he knows it gets Stiles hot, watching as he licks the paper and packs the joint like it’s second-nature, forming a perfect cone (he insists they’re better).  

“You guys do this a lot,” Derek concludes, and Stiles grins.  “Not all of us were basketball stars with pretty girls in high school.”

Scott snorts and passes Stiles the first joint.  “He had a pretty girl, don’t believe him for a second,” Scott tells Derek.  

“Wasn’t a basketball player,” Stiles grouses, but he doesn’t stay annoyed for long.  He fishes his lighter out of his pocket with one hand, almost fumbling and dropping it onto the grass.  “Come closer, hotshot.”

The unimpressed expression written in Derek’s eyebrows is probably supposed to be intimidating, but it only makes Stiles grin; Stiles is pretty pleased with himself, and he always gets giddy pre-smoke, anyway.  It’s a combination of the thrill of knowing he’s about to do something stupid in a place he could get caught, and of knowing this will lead to stumbling back Scott’s room, pressing Scott into the bed and fucking him when everything’s quiet and slow.

Derek adds an unknown element, but the way Derek tenses up when he gets closer to Stiles, the way his fingernails press into the palms of his hands, makes Stiles optimistic.  “You know what shotgunning is, right?  And that I want it to mean a whole lotta beard burn, at least?”  Better to be blunt (ha ha) and get it out of the way now than worry later about if everyone was chill with everything.

“For me or for you?” Derek teases, and Scott laughs so hard he’s snorting at the way Stiles’ jaw drops.  “Hey, I-”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek says, cutting him off and coming closer, Stiles finally able to see the color of his eyes.  “I know, and I want that.”

Stiles’ breath catches.  He’s come a long way since freshman year, when he thought even Scott didn’t seem interested in having sex with him.  He’s had a lot of sex, had steady partners who thought he was hot.  But he can’t shake the shiver that goes down his spine when someone as attractive as Derek has his full attention focused on him, all intensity and honesty.  Stiles could reach out and kiss him now, when everything is still in sharp focus, when neither of them can pretend it wasn’t intentional.

He doesn’t, though.  Instead, he lifts up his lighter and clicks on the flame, catching the edges of the paper on fire.  He takes a hit for himself first, distantly hears Scott giving Derek instructions on how to shotgun, Derek insisting he’s done it before while Stiles slowly exhales.  Stiles can already feel the tension starting to ooze from his limbs, more from habit than from any effect of the drug itself, at this point.  He doesn’t take long to savor the moment, because the joint’s burning down, and Derek’s pulling closer, absently licking his lips.

“Ready?” Stiles asks, and when Derek nods, Stiles presses the filter to his mouth and inhales deeply, lowers the joint.  He feels the rush, the knowledge that this is the moment everything turns on.  It’s the real reason he loves shotgunning so much, even more so than the press of someone else’s lips against his.  He can feel the smoke in his mouth, his lungs screaming as he holds his breath, and it’s freeing.  It pushes him to boldness, to close the small gap between him and Derek, to tilt his head and press his mouth against Derek’s, to feel the smoke curling from his mouth into Derek’s.  When Stiles pulls away, Derek holds the taste in his mouth for longer than he needs to and winds up coughing, his eyes watering.

“I’ll let you sit on that for a second,” Stiles tells him, pressing a quick kiss to Derek’s cheek while Derek is still close, before he can take it back.  Stiles licks his lips and pulls away.  “Scotty, hurry up and get over here, it’s your turn.”

* * *

 

Stiles leans back against one of the trees at the edge of the woods, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him.  He tries to send Malia a snapchat, but the lighting is bad, and he’s pretty sure that all she can see is the faint outline of his head.  He doesn’t really care very much, though; Malia’s probably asleep, anyway, and Stiles has much better things to do than fiddle with his phone.

Derek skipped straight from, “I’m fine, I can’t even feel it,” to melting as Scott ran his fingers through his hair.  Scott always wants to get his fingers in people’s hair when he’s high; he used to get so annoyed back when Stiles would shave his hair off, because there was nothing to grip, and Stiles wouldn’t let Scott run his nails directly against Stiles’ scalp.

In front of him on the grass, Derek and Scott are kissing, Scott pressing down on top of Derek and licking into his mouth.  Derek’s moans are muffled but audible, drowning out the cicadas in the quiet woods.  Stiles feels like it should be unsettling to him, watching Derek and Scott, Scott’s thigh pressed against Derek’s cock, slowly rutting against him.  It doesn’t feel any different, though, than when Scott and Malia used to have sex, or when he watched Scott with Kira.  It could just be the weed mellowing things out, but seeing the two of them together is less painful than he expected.  He’s got a lowkey hard-on going, and everything.

Stiles fumbles his phone and lets it drop to the ground, and Scott’s head swivels towards him, nervous at the loud thump.  “Sorry,” Stiles says lazily, his voice low and hoarse.  “My phone.”

“You’re playing with your phone?” Derek asks breathlessly.  His voice is audibly different from when Stiles heard it the first time, and Stiles isn’t sure whether it’s Scott or the weed that’s having more of an effect.  Probably the weed.  Stiles nearly giggles when he notices the dried leaves clinging to Derek’s hair, and Derek doesn’t seem to notice at all.

“You were doing makeout stuff.  Being boyfriends without me.”  It comes out way more bitter than Stiles intended it to, but he figures that Scott will know they’re good.  Scott always knows that stuff, when it comes to Stiles.

“You’re his boyfriend, too, right?” Derek asks Stiles.  

Stiles does laugh out loud this time.  “Not exactly?  I don’t know what we are, dude,” he says.

“Whatever you want to be,” Derek says, and Stiles’ thoughts slow to a stop.  “I want whatever.”

“Perfect,” Scott says, kissing Derek’s neck, but Stiles’ feels like he’s missing something.  That isn’t what he meant at all, and the conversation just raced by without him.  His head doesn’t feel fuzzy enough for him to be the only one out of the loop.  

He knows that whatever he and Scott have is solid, but Derek is much shakier ground; all that Stiles has learned is that Scott was right about Derek’s beard burn, that Derek cuddles when he’s high, and that Derek has thought about Stiles fucking him.  Although all three of them are pretty great revelations, he doesn’t feel in love with Derek.  He doesn’t know how Derek even got to the point where he’s okay with saying something like that out loud, when the two of them just met.  That’s the kind of thing Stiles holds shamefully inside until it’s ready to burst.

Scott doesn’t seem to have the same comprehension issues as Stiles, though.  He sees the confusion written all over Stiles’ face and reaches out his hand, Stiles slipping his phone into his pocket to walk over and hold it.  

“You’re my Stiles,” Scott tells Stiles earnestly, eyelids heavy as he gazes at Stiles.  “You’re my Stiles, and he’s my Derek.  Maybe you can be each other’s Stiles and Derek.”

Derek sets a thick hand on Stiles’ thigh, rubbing gently at Stiles’ jeans with his thumb.  It is a convincing argument for being something, even if it’s not jumping from nothing to boyfriends.  Stiles does still want to see what Derek looks like when he’s come, how Derek feels when he’s full of Stiles’ dick.  Stiles is definitely not signing up for boyfriends yet, not when he still hasn’t decided if he hates Derek’s guts yet or not.

He knows he’s tilting strongly towards the no gut hating side, but he has to give Derek his fair chance to fuck things up.  Stiles knows he isn’t easy to be around, a lot of the time, and Derek doesn’t quite know what he’s signing up for yet.

Maybe, though.  Maybe he can work up to being Derek’s in a similar way to how he worked up to being Scott’s.

“Not boyfriends,” Stiles says.  “But I can be your Stiles.  If you sing me Brand New.  For tonight, at least.”

“And after that?” Derek asks.

“We’ll see,” Stiles says, his uncertain words still a promise.  

He follows Derek and Scott back to their room that night.  Parts of it feel familiar, Scott’s mouth on him, but parts aren’t.  He’s spread out on Derek’s mattress, takes the time to eat Derek open.  He watches Scott fuck the hole he just made sloppy wet.  It’s odd to Stiles how everything fits together; the three of them have moments of awkwardness, two people reaching to slide fingers in where there’s only space for one, or Derek nudging against Stiles’ head when they both move in to kiss Scott.  It will take some time for everything to feel natural, even with the nice haze of slow, syrupy thoughts that Stiles gets from the weed.

But Stiles is willing to give more times a shot.  When Scott kisses him goodnight with Stiles still in Derek’s bed, unwilling to move, Derek drapes his arm around Stiles, and Stiles gets comfortable.

* * *

 

The next time Scott invites Stiles to hang out with Derek, Stiles says yes, and this time, he has some positive stories of his own to tell.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
